


Of Course

by quitepossiblyjanuary



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Humor, I am truly the queen of fluff guys, I don't know though, I tried my hardest I promise, M/M, Slow Build, does the fact that Arthur is nice to merlin in the beginning make this an au or what?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quitepossiblyjanuary/pseuds/quitepossiblyjanuary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin looks at the taxi, then at the Pendragon’s unnecessarily large manor, then down at his muddy work boots. He frowns at them, somehow perturbed that they’ve begun to shed flakes of dried mud all over the Pendragon’s pristine cobblestone driveway, which he imagines has been swept in the past day. Maybe even in the past hour.<br/>He purses his lips, considering the possibility that he’d be sweeping the driveway hourly from now on. It wasn’t a particularly welcome thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Course

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS SO CLICHÉ AND I’M SORRY I ALWAYS END WITH JUST A KISS. I CAN WRITE SEX SCENES BUT I JUST DON’T SORRY OKAY BYE. ALSO, sorry this took so long omg, I just loved the prompt a lot so I sort of went overboard??? (Anyway, this is for thego-slow on tumblr c: I hope you like it!) (Also, this is un-beta’d because I don’t have anyone to do that for me. If you spot any mistakes please let me know!!)

                Merlin looks at the taxi, then at the Pendragon’s unnecessarily large manor, then down at his muddy work boots. He frowns at them, somehow perturbed that they’ve begun to shed flakes of dried mud all over the Pendragon’s pristine cobblestone driveway, which he imagines has been swept in the past day. Maybe even in the past hour.

                He purses his lips, considering the possibility that _he’d_ be sweeping the driveway hourly from now on. It wasn’t a particularly welcome thought.

                Shaking his head, Merlin ambles up the front steps and pauses, eyeing the door as if it were some sort of contagion (which it might as well be, if what Will had said about the Pendragons was true). And for a moment, Merlin feels some sort of panicky about-to-have-an-existential-crisis feeling crawl up the back of his neck when he can’t find the doorbell.

                He eventually finds it, though, and reaches some nerve in him to press it. It chimes cheerfully, to Merlin’s dismay, since he was really hoping for some sort of Dracula-esque organ tune. Heavy footsteps echo on the other side of the door (marble flooring?) and it swings open.

                He sighs with relief.

                “ _Mer_ lin!” Gaius exclaims, grinning happily, “Come in, come in!”

                For an old man, Gaius has a surprisingly strong grip, and he utilizes it to grab Merlin by his lean ( _not_ scrawny) shoulder, and pull him over the threshold and into the foyer. “Oh, Merlin,” Gaius chides lightly, “don’t gape, it’s just a house.”

                “ _House?_ ” Merlin sputters, “This _foyer_ is bigger than some developing countries.”

                “Well, I must agree the Pendragons are a little bit excessive, but all with good intent,” Gaius looks around and pulls at his tie. He looks like a butler. “Well, maybe not with the _best_ intent but…”                      

                “Hm,” Merlin agrees, tipping his head, “so, am I going to live in a broom closet? I mean, that’d probably still be nicer than my ehm, _previous_ accommodations, but.”

                “Of course not, dear boy, you’ll be living in the west wing, where Arthur lives,” Gaius turns, gesturing for Merlin to follow, “he’s a good lad, once you get to know him.”

                “Once I get to know him?” Merlin asks, leaning forward a little as he walks. Gaius frowns at his slouching.

                “Yes, he’s a little older than you, two years, I believe.”

                “Okay,” Merlin cranes his neck, wondering for a moment what exactly age has to do with likeability, and looks at each painting as they pass by (a lady with a funny collar that makes her look like that weird dinosaur; another lady holding a dog while looking extremely uncomfortable; a man with a really unfortunate mustache) and counts the amount of potted plants he sees along this one corridor (6, so far).

                Merlin feels himself stumble suddenly, and he really wishes he’d seen the edge of that Persian rug sooner, because he ends up flat on his—. Wait.

                He blinks for a few seconds, realizing his nose is not throbbing in pain and Gaius is not calling him an idiot as he helps him up. “You alright there?” Someone asks, and for a moment Merlin considers imploding.

                “Yeah. Yeah, m’fine. Thanks…?”

                “Arthur.” Someone (Arthur) says as Merlin pulls himself to his feet.

                “Arthur. Hi,” he mumbles, “I’m Merlin. And a bit of a klutz.”

                “I noticed.”

                Merlin finishes dusting himself off and takes a moment to stand up a little straighter (maybe hoping a little bit that the un-slouching would put him at Arthur’s height. It does). Merlin sticks out his hand in greeting, and is pleased to find that Arthur firmly takes it. “I suppose you’re the one moving in then?”

                Merlin nods, shifting his pack on his shoulder. “That would be me, yeah.”

                “Well then,” Arthur says, grinning a little, “I do hope you like it here.”

                _Me and you both, then,_ Merlin thinks, _me and you both._

+

                Merlin settles in and it’s a lot easier than he thought it would’ve been.

                His room his large and airy. The walls are painted a nice mint color, and everything is colored to match. There’s a nook shielded by furniture to the right when first walking in, and it’s nearly impossible to see him when he nestles himself there (with beanbag chairs!), perfect for reading and the occasional nap.

                Breakfast is served from 6:00 to 11 on weekdays, and from 7:00 to 1:30 on weekends, with a ridiculously wide selection from crêpes to a traditional Japanese breakfast. Merlin always goes for a ham and cheese omelet with two sausages on the side, but he swears the cook always slips an extra sausage in, and _always_ some toast with strawberry jam, even if Merlin doesn’t ask for it. (He always eats everything, though, leaving his china relatively clean, something he can tell relieves the staff as he stands up to leave).

                He rarely sees Arthur. And when he does, it’s either on weekends or passing by in the extensive halls of the castle ( _mansion_ , he thinks, correcting himself. Deep down he knows it’s a castle, though). Arthur always smiles at him and they fondly bump fists. Merlin’s not quite sure when _that_ developed, but he likes it anyway. It never fails to make him smile after a long day of classes.

                When Christmas break rolls around, however, Merlin finds himself seeing Arthur _a lot_.

                He spots him in the second floor living room, dozing on the couch; in the foyer, greeting friends; in the kitchen, making impromptu sandwiches. Sometimes, he half expects Arthur to pop up between the crevices of his two beanbag chairs and start lecturing him about some political theory, since he’s a political science major at uni.

                Three days before Christmas Eve, Uther holds his annual Christmas party. Apparently it’s kind of a big deal in these parts, and Merlin wants no part of it, really. (So naturally, while all the guests pile into the foyer, nicely dressed in their finest, Merlin sneaks by as incognito as he can in his red-and-green flannel pajama bottoms with snowmen on them, to get back to his room. The mission is successful).

                Walking down the hall, Merlin passes by Arthur. He duly notes that the blonde looks uncomfortable in his suit, and shifts uncomfortably, making the shoulder pads move oddly. “Why a suit?” Merlin asks, taking the fabric of the sleeve and rubbing it between his fingers. It feels itchy. Arthur sighs.

                “I don’t know,” he says, playing with his cufflink, “my dad prefers suits to Christmas sweaters, I guess.”

                “That sucks,” Merlin quips, “but, the suit _does_ look better than, say, a lovely cable knit sweater covered in deformed snowmen.”

                Arthur laughs. “Thanks?”

                “Anytime,” Merlin says lightly, giving Arthur a two-salute as they part, “good luck!”

                “I’ll need it.” Arthur grumbles as he stalks off. Merlin briefly wonders if Arthur has any annoying aunts, and concludes that he most likely he does.

+

                Around midnight, Merlin is laying on his bed, doing parts of his history reading (which isn’t due until a week after break, but still) and idly picking at a string that has come loose from his duvet. He gets to a paragraph titled ‘ _WWI: The Aftermath_ ’ when he hears his door open and slam. He jumps a little and the straight line his highlighter was drawing goes askew, “Jesus _Christ_ ,” Merlin mumbles, “Arthur, breathe.”

                “ _I can’t_ ,” Arthur pants, his chest heaving, “god, Merlin, hide me, _hide me now_.”

                “What?” Merlin asks, swinging his legs off the bed, “I—”

                “ _Just do it!_ ” Arthur hisses, looking increasingly nervous.

                “Okay, okay,” Merlin assures, gesturing with his hands, “over there, behind the beanbag chairs.”               

                And it looks a little ridiculous as Arthur practically dive-bombs behind the two blue beanbags in his expensively tailored suit, but he supposes whatever situation he’s gotten himself into is well worth it.

                “ _Hello?_ ” someone says from behind Merlin’s door, “ _Arthur?_ ”

                Merlin looks to the beanbag chairs, which wiggle suspiciously. He sighs and goes to answer the door. As soon as it’s open, he’s somewhat _tackled_ by a curly mass of platinum blonde hair. “Um,” Merlin squeaks, un-sticking the girl from his neck, “Hi?”

                “Oh,” she mumbles, sounding a little put off, “Arthur, you got a _lot_ scrawnier.”

                “ _Oi!_ ” Merlin snaps, “I am _lean,_ _not_ scrawny, for Christ’s sake!”

                The girl stumbles back, likely a little confused. She removes the red-and-green striped blindfold she’d been wearing and blinks at the change in lighting. “Oh,” She deadpans, “that explains quite a lot.” She continues, blushing, “I’m really sorry.”

                Merlin laughs. “It’s alright, um…?”

                “Elena.”

                “Well Elena, I’m Merlin, and it’s very nice to meet you.”

                The blonde girl giggles and hides her face, “Nice t’meet you too.”

                They both stand awkwardly for a moment before Elena clears her throat. “Have you seen Arthur around, by any chance? I think I heard him come this way.”

                Merlin casts a nervous glance towards his beanbag chairs. He can practically feel Arthur’s glare. “Uh, no, sorry,” Elena frowns, and Merlin feels a little bad for lying, “he might’ve slipped by you, you were blindfolded, after all.”

                Elena blushes again. “Yeah, thank you, though.”

                Merlin helps retie the blindfold around Elena’s head (for whatever reason) and she’s off, stumbling about and calling out for Arthur.

                Once Merlin deems her a suitable distance away, he slams the door and promptly goes to sit on his beanbag chairs, which make a surprised _oomf_ sort of sound. “ _Merlin!_ ” The chair barks, “ _Get. Off!_ ”

                “I don’t know,” he muses, leaning back further. Arthur groans. “I’m pretty comfortable here.”

                Arthur whines and pushes up, toppling Merlin off of the chair headfirst into the floor. “You deserved that, you prat.”

                “That’s rich, coming from you.” Merlin quips.

                “Ha ha,” Arthur says, dusting himself off, “if only I was blessed with humor such as yours.”

                Merlin rolls his eyes but smiles fondly through it. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

                Arthur hums in acknowledgement. “Yeah, yeah, go back to your reading or whatever,” he straightens his bowtie, “I have a party to attend.”

                Arthur leaves, but Merlin watches ‘ _Friends With Benefits’_ instead of continuing his history reading, because he feels sort of alone and bored, and World War I cannot satisfy his intense craving for romantic comedy humor.

+

                New Year’s Eve is another conundrum in the Pendragon household.

                There’s alcohol _everywhere_ and Merlin isn’t quite sure how he feels about that, since, on one hand, that could mean _lots_ of good blackmail material, but on the other hand it could mean _lots_ of awkward drunken things. He’s experienced both, on both ends, too – doing the blackmailing and receiving it, and also doing the drunken things but also witnessing them. (Or receiving them, which god forbid, is the _worst_ ). Overall, it’s just a horrifying experience for everyone.

                So naturally, on New Year’s Eve, Merlin sneaks a few desserts from the kitchen (with the aid of his chef-friend) and then proceeds to lock himself in his room and pretend to _not_ hear the various X-Rated sounds coming from his hallway. (Something he does pretty well with headphones, but in the little awkward pauses between his songs, he can sometimes hear the occasional ‘ _oh yeah, baby_ ’ or ‘ _yeah, like that_ ’).

                Around twelve, though, Merlin sneaks out of his room and into the Pendragon’s _massive_ first-floor living room to seek out more chocolate truffles, because if he has a say, the first five were _excellent_.

                He spots Arthur lounging on one of the brown leather couches next to the Christmas tree along with a pretty curly-haired girl – who he then recognizes as Gwen – and two of his best footy mates – Leon and Lance.

                To his dismay, Merlin can’t seem to find the server with the truffles, and opts for the one carrying the tiny flutes of champagne instead. He downs one in one go, noting the potential cost of a single flute in this house.

                Before he can slip back to his room, though, Merlin finds everyone buzzing with anticipation, and counting down from ten. Several people lean in for kisses and others propose toasts when they hit zero.

                Arthur, well. Arthur completely surprises Merlin (and by the looks of it, himself, too) when he kisses Leon instead of Gwen. A quiet look of shock passes over both their faces before they both have a bit of a laugh about it, both appearing to have accepted whatever realization they may have just had.

                Merlin goes back to his room.

+

                Around 3 am, Merlin is both pleased and a little scared to say that he is still awake.

Around 3:30 am, however, Merlin is one-hundred percent scared when Arthur bursts into his room, babbling about a sexuality crisis and some political theory that he’s been studying in his classes (both of which apparently involve a lot of dicks).

“ _Merlin_ ,” he hisses, taking Merlin by his lean (not scrawny!) shoulders and shaking him rigorously, “I think I’m _gay_.” Merlin goes cross-eyed staring at Arthur’s nose.

Arthur shakes him again after Merlin doesn’t reply.

“Um,” Merlin says finally, still confused as to why Arthur is coming to him for this sort of thing, “that’s—that’s not _bad_ , or anything. I mean. Um.”

“I know but,” Arthur stresses, punctuating it with a firm shake to Merlin’s shoulders, “ _Gay. Me._ ”

“Eloquent.” Merlin quips.

“Shut up,” he growls, “I just—I don’t. Oh. _Oh_.”

“Wow, already accepting it.” Merlin muses.

Arthur glares but doesn’t say anything else whilst detaching himself from Merlin’s shoulders. He sighs and looks thoughtfully down at the floor for a moment, but it soon stretches into several moments. This is the point in which Merlin realizes that Arthur is most definitely still under the influence of alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be drunk for this conversation.” Merlin points out, standing up from his beanbag chair.

“I shouldn’t be drunk for this conversation.” Arthur parrots. Merlin sighs and steers Arthur towards the door.

“Merlin,” the blonde says, sounding a little distant, “I think I am most certainly not straight.”

Merlin pauses in pushing Arthur towards the door. “Well,” he grumbles, “I suppose I should wish you the best of luck.”

With that, Merlin pushes him out the door, and crosses his fingers that he doesn’t trip on the Persian carpet outside.

+

                The next morning (well, afternoon) it’s like the entire Pendragon estate is participating in some sort of communal hangover.

                Merlin is up around 12:15 and he spots Mr. Pendragon hunching protectively over the coffee pot, something which (at his age) is likely terrible for his back. He doesn’t see Arthur till around 3:30, walking the halls wearing a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape and brushing his teeth while looking rather put off about it. “’Orning,” Arthur says around his toothbrush,

                “Morning,” Merlin replies brightly. Without thinking, he reaches out to wipe some toothpaste foam that has begun a southward journey down Arthur’s lip away. Arthur flinches, at first, but his eyebrows drop down to their normal height after a moment.

                “T’anks?”

                “You’re very welcome.”

+

                The night before school starts up again, Merlin finds himself rather bored as he’d already done all of his homework for the following week.

                Unfortunately, being productive also means that Merlin is so bored that he gets out of his room.

                Even more unfortunate is the fact that he decides he doesn’t want to watch an illegal movie on his laptop screen because it’s too small. Living with the Pendragons and their massive flat-screen TVs will do that to you.

                So Merlin migrates to the first-floor living room with a blanket and his laptop, settles on the couch, and fiddles with Netflix until he decides that a _Jurassic Park_ would be perfectly acceptable, and does just that.

+

                “Merlin, hey, Merlin.”

                Merlin blinks, confused, and eyes the screen for a moment because there is _no way_ a T-Rex sounds exactly like Arthur. He looks up.

                The blond smiles down at him crookedly. “Mind if I join? I haven’t seen this film in ages.”

                “Sure.” Merlin says, a little surprised.

                Arthur plops down in the couch space beside him and puts his feet up on the coffee table, something which he makes a side comment to Merlin not to tell his father about, because the table is inlaid with some sort of precious gem. Merlin snorts.

+

                They’re a little more than halfway through the god-awful sequel when Merlin starts to feel a little sleepy.

                He leans back against the couch for about fifteen seconds before receiving a rough jab to the ribs. “ _Oof,_ ow, Arthur what--?”

                “Don’t fall asleep on me now,” Arthur jokes, “it’s about to get bloody.”

                “Don’t tell me,” Merlin says sleepily, “you’ll get too frightened on your own, without me here to protect you.”

                Merlin gets a real punch to his shoulder, for that, but Arthur laughs anyway, “As if.”

                Merlin grins. “Arthur, for all you know, I could be your knight in shining armor.”

                Arthur’s smile falters for a moment. “Cheesy, but I’ll take it,” he says, his tone light again, “I don’t know Merlin. I think I prefer my knights taller and a little less bony.”

                “The armor would add a few pounds I’m sure.”

                Arthur laughs and Merlin decides to stay for the rest of the movie.

+

                The next morning Merlin realizes exactly how much he hates school when his alarm clock goes off at 6:45 in the _fucking morning_. And, Merlin is not at all opposed to showing exactly _how much_ he hates school.

                He slouches the entire morning, is sure to drag his feet and eat his breakfast as angrily as possible and slams the door to Gauis’ car especially loudly when he drives him to school. Overall, he’s just a very large ten year old (well, maybe not _large_ , but, the idea is similar enough).

                When he gets home, he drops his backpack on the floor to his room, slams the door behind him, and, upon walking to his beanbag chairs, trips on one of his backpack straps and falls flat onto his face. Merlin groans. He hears a faint chuckle from ahead of him, and glances up to find Arthur, _reading_ , in one of his beanbag chairs, for Christ’s sake.

                Merlin slumps into the floor, his limbs sprawled everywhere, “What do you want.”

                Arthur shrugs. “Was bored. I figured I needed a little change of scenery.”

                “I wouldn’t exactly call my room ‘scenery’.” Merlin groans as he gets up and dusts himself off.

                Arthur hums in agreement, but only nestles himself further into the lighter blue beanbag chair, licks his finger, and turns a page in his novel. “I suppose there’s no getting rid of you, then.” Merlin says, to no one in particular. He rummages in his backpack for a moment before emerging with his French textbook to do the night’s reading.

                “Mind if I…?” Merlin asks, gesturing to the other beanbag chair,

                Arthur snorts. “It’s your room.”

                “Ah, but it’s your house,” the younger boy says before flopping down comfortably,

                “But you live here,” Arthur points out, “technically.”

                “Meh,” Merlin turns a page in his textbook.

+

                They read quietly for a while, the only sounds passing between them the gentle crinkle of pages turning and the occasional sniff from Arthur (Merlin guesses it’s a habit).

                When Merlin reaches his second to last paragraph, Arthur’s phone starts buzzing nonstop. Merlin looks over and watches the blonde pointedly not answer it. “You gonna get that?” Merlin asks, sticking his highlighter in his textbook and closing it.

                “Not really,” he answers, turning another page in his book,

                “Why not?” Merlin pauses and Arthur doesn’t answer. “It seems they really demand your attention.” Arthur’s phone buzzes one more time, as if making a point.

                “Meh.” Arthur says, shrugging.

                “It could be an emergency.”

                Arthur rolls his eyes. “Trust me. I know it’s not. It’s just Gwaine. He’s having a bit of a crisis at the moment, so I think I’ll just leave him be ‘till he sorts it out himself. Besides, I have more important things to tend to.”

                Merlin huffs, amused.  “Like what?”

                Arthur suddenly looks bashful. “Ehh, nothing.”

                Merlin abandons his textbook in favor of poking Arthur’s shoulder, suddenly brimming with energy, “C’mon what is it?”

                “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

                “ _Arthur._ ”

                “Seriously, Merlin.”

                “If it’s nothing then why don’t you tell me?”

                Arthur pauses a moment and looks at Merlin from the corner of his eye. He sighs. “It’s you. It’s just. I like spending time with you, Merlin.”

                Merlin grins, likely from ear-to-ear (which is frankly ridiculous, for him). “Aw you’re just a big puppy on the inside,” he says before adding, “I like spending time with you, too.”

                Arthur relaxes back into his beanbag chair, and looks relieved for whatever reason.

+

                The next few days are somewhat surreal just because Arthur decides to hang out in Merlin’s room and is always there when Merlin gets back from school.

                “Not going to trip on your backpack today?” Arthur asks smugly,

                “Of course not,” Merlin says, “not when I have a guest.”

                Arthur laughs – he always does – and Merlin goes to sit next to him in his dumb beanbag chairs. Then they read, and Arthur does that sniffling thing he always does when he’s reading, and when Merlin gets bored with his school reading, he watches Arthur read out of the corner of his eye, captivated by his miniscule emotional reactions to the book that read on his face.

                Merlin counts them, from the little frowns that pull at his lips to the tiny twitches of his nose which wouldn’t be noticeable unless you were sitting less than a foot away, which Merlin is.

                “You should stop staring at me,” Arthur notes absentmindedly one day,

                “Why,” Merlin asks, equally as absentmindedly, too busy counting the layers of bags underneath Arthur’s eyes,

                “It’s distracting.”

                Merlin snorts. “Sorry princess.”

                Arthur glances up at him, for that, but the gaze isn’t angry, it’s fond. “And you’re still my ‘knight in shining armor’?”

                “Of course,” Merlin quips, “always.”

                “Good,” Arthur says tersely before setting down his book, “’cause I’d like to try something.”

                “What’s tha—” But before Merlin can finish his little meaningless question, Arthur leans in and kisses him. It’s short enough that Merlin can’t even get his bearings before Arthur leans away.

                “Is that alright?”

                “Of course,” Merlin says, struck a little dumb, “always.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: "Merlin is adopted into the Pendragon household as a teenager (for whatever reason) and Arthur is attached to him pretty much immediately (but since Merlin is a little younger and shyer than him he feels guilty, and tries to suppress his feelings)."  
> I also realize I haven't posted in a while, and I'm sorry!! School as kept me busy. I hope to write more over this summer c;


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